The Astounding Stupidity of Optimism
by The Fifth Antagonist
Summary: Harry Potter hoped the Chamber of Secrets would be the end of it. Minerva McGonagall hoped a letter would be enough. Petunia Dursley hoped that she would eventually receive forgiveness. Tom Riddle doesn't remember how to hope.  slash: TMR/HP
1. Start Match

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, or any of the affiliated merchandise.

Author's Notes: This is sort of a collage of multiple "what if's" that I've always wanted to write about. I won't tell you what they are just yet because that would ruin the surprise! _Please note_ that the first scene is taken directly from the second book (it is the last scene in the book.) It is included because I feel that it adds some additional context and contrast for the scene with Petunia. Also, _any complaints about things I give warnings for will be ignored!_

_Warnings_: slash, potential femslash, chan,

**The Astounding Stupidity of Optimism**

**Chapter One: Start Match

* * *

**

The rest of term passed in a haze of blazing sunshine. Hogwarts was back to normal with only a few, small differences. Defense Against the Dark Arts classes were canceled ("but we've got plenty of practice anyway," Ron told a disgruntled Hermione) and Lucius Malfoy had been sacked as a school governor. Draco was no longer strutting around the school as though he owned the place. On the contrary, he looked resentful and sulky. On the other hand, Ginny Weasley was perfectly happy again.

Too soon, it was time for the journey home on the Hogwarts Express. Harry, Ron, Hermione, Fred, George, and Ginny got a compartment to themselves. They made the most of the last few hours in which they were allowed to do magic before the holidays. They played Exploding Snap, set off the last of Fred and George's Filibuster fireworks, and practiced Disarming each other by magic. Harry was getting very good at it.

They were almost at King's Cross when Harry remembered something.

"Ginny – what did you see Percy doing, that he didn't want you to tell anyone?"

"Oh, that," Ginny said, giggling. "Well – Percy's got a _girlfriend_."

Fred dropped a stack of books on George's head.

"What?"

"It's that Ravenclaw prefect, Penelope Clearwater," said Ginny. "That's who he was writing to all last summer. He's been meeting her all over the school in secret. I walked in on them _kissing_ in an empty classroom one day. He was so upset when she was – you know – attacked. You won't tease him, will you?" she added anxiously.

"Wouldn't dream of it," said Fred, who was looking like his birthday had come early.

"Definitely not," said George, sniggering.

The Hogwarts Express slowed down and finally stopped.

Harry pulled out his quill and a bit of parchment and turned to Ron and Hermione.

"This is called a telephone number," he told Ron, scribbling it twice, tearing the parchment in two, and handing it to them. "I told your dad how to use a telephone last summer – he'll know. Call me at the Dursleys', okay? I can't stand another two months with only Dudley to talk to…"

"Your aunt and uncle will be proud, though, won't they?" said Hermione as they got off the train and joined the crowd thronging toward the enchanted barrier. "When they hear what you did this year?"

"Proud?" said Harry. "Are you crazy? All those times I could've died, and I didn't manage it? They'll be furious…"

And together they walked back through the gateway to the Muggle world.

* * *

Harry split off from his friends after a few more goodbyes, and headed over to the parking lot and the waiting Dursleys, hunching his shoulders against the nagging feeling of being watched. This lingering sensation had started up as soon as the aftermath of the Chamber fiasco finally settled down. It followed him where ever he went, only fading when he dealt with hygiene and bodily functions. He had tried to catch whoever it was that was following him but never managed to. Harry had his Invisibility Cloak for sneaking around; did the person watching him have one too? Or was it a spell? Hermione would know, he was sure, but he was scared of what would happen if he told anyone.

Besides, he was used to dealing with things himself, and this wasn't – couldn't be – any different. It was likely that he was overacting anyway. He was starting to sound paranoid. Maybe a few weeks away from the Wizarding world would do him some good. Even if it _was_ with the Dursleys.

"There you are," said his aunt, startling him. She pursed her too thin lips together, glaring at something behind him. He didn't dare turn around to see the unfortunate victim of his aunt's ire. "Come here, we don't have all day." She seemed angrier than usual, though.

Not wanting start things off badly before he even got to the house, Harry hurried over to her, glancing around cautiously for his uncle and Dudley. He didn't find them. That was very strange. Usually Aunt Petunia, though she had a driver's license, had her husband driver her anywhere she needed to go. He wondered if something had happened, and felt a little guilty for hoping so. It wasn't that he liked any of the Dursleys, he just – Harry didn't want them to be hurt. He wasn't like Riddle.

_Because there are strange likenesses between us, Harry Potter._

He flinched, and tried to push away the memory by asking, "Where's Dudley and Uncle Vernon?" Aunt Petunia scowled.

"They are away for the week, golfing." They got into the car. The trip back to Privet Drive was spent in silence, though Harry noticed that his aunt shifted in her seat nervously and kept glancing at him in the rearview mirror. Several times he thought that she was going to say something, but she stopped herself with a shake of her head. Finally, they reached the house. Aunt Petunia hurried to unlock the front door before returning to the car to help him take his things in.

"Harry," she began slowly, after they had put his things in his room. "Has anything – I mean – I received an…owl from a Minerva McGonagall." Air rushed from his lungs, and he found it difficult to regain his breath. His aunt didn't seem to notice as she continued, "do you know what it was about? She wrote to tell me that you had nearly died! What were you thinking? How am I supposed to make up for how I treated you if you're dead?"

"I – what? You never cared before!"

"I know that!" she yelled. He jerked back with a flinch; she sighed sadly. "Sorry, I didn't mean… While you were at you school, I realized something. About how I – about how _we_ had treated you while you were growing up." Here she hesitated, watching for his reaction so far. He just stared wide-eyed at her. "I don't expect you to forgive me…"

"You – I – You're apologizing…?"

"Yes," said Aunt Petunia.

"Who are you?" he whispered. "You can't be my aunt. She wouldn't – not ever –" Petunia watched in worry as her nephew muttered to himself, eyes flicking his way and that like he expected something to jump out and attack him. Slowly, she moved closer.

…_strange likenesses between us, Harry…_

"No. No…" Tears began dripping from his eyes. In transfixed horror, she watched him drop to his knees, curl his limbs close to his body, and slowly begin rocking himself back and forth. It was like he was regressing back to the child he never had been. "I can't be. I'm not like him. I – _nonono!_" Finally, she could no longer stand it.

She settled next to Harry and pulled him into a gentle hug. The distraught youth just kept muttering.

"I can't be; I can't. Please, no, I can't. I'm not… I'm not like him."

What had that school _done to him_? It seemed that she would be contacting that McGonagall after all.

* * *

_Mrs. Petunia Dursley,_

_I am Minerva McGonagall, one of your nephew's professors and the Head of his House. It is my duty to inform you of the events that occurred this year, and their relation to young Harry._

_As you know from the letter sent out earlier this year, the Chamber of Secrets had been opened. However, the culprit behind this has been caught, and the creature residing within the Chamber has been slain. Therefore, Hogwarts will remain open for the coming year._

_We, the staff of Hogwarts, must apologize for the danger we have once again placed your nephew in._

_Several days ago, a student was kidnapped and taken into the Chamber. We are unsure how they discovered it, but Harry and his friend Ronald took it upon themselves to rescue the child. While there, the two were separated. Harry continued on into the central part of the Chamber and encountered the culprit and the creature itself. The creature was a Basilisk, a giant serpent capable of killing with a glance._

_Harry was bit by the serpent. Fortunately, the antidote was administered before the venom could take permanent effect. However, the Basilisk is a rare creature and I am unsure what lasting effects the venom could have on young Harry._

_If either of you need assistance, please inform me._

_Best regards,_

_Minerva McGonagall

* * *

_

In an old homey manor, miles away from Privet Drive, Minerva McGonagall paced the length of her parlor anxiously. A week ago she had sent Petunia Dursley a missive, despite Dumbledore's protests, explaining the unfortunate events of the school year and her nephew's involvement in them. Minerva had hoped at the time that finally knowing what the Wizarding world continuously put the child through would convince the woman to provide some sort of…care.

It was foolish of her, she realized now. What she had done would only make things _worse_ for Harry. Unfortunately, there was no way for her to take it back. All she could do was wait, and hope she could fix things when the boy returned to Hogwarts.

A faint crack signaled the entrance of her house-elf. "Mistress?" She turned slowly towards her.

"Yes, Baize?"

"An owl arrived for Mistress. Will Mistress be wanting tea while she reads?" Minerva blinked at the small creature and nodded absently as she accepted the letter. The envelope was very plain, had no crest to denote which family had sent it, and was made of paper instead of parchment. One of her muggle-borns, than…or, perhaps, Harry's aunt? There was no point in putting it off, she supposed, opening the envelope and removing the thin letter.

Minerva's mother had once told her that you could tell a lot about a person by looking at the parchment they used for letters. That idea was something that had stayed with her over the years, and something she considered when reading the replies sent by the first years and their families. She remembered that Lily Evans had used simple lined paper for her response; impersonal and indifferent. Quite different from the delicate, pale blue stationary that Petunia had used in her letter to Dumbledore all those years ago.

It seemed that her taste in stationary had survived the years.

Now, however, was not the time for such musings. One of her lions needed her.

* * *

_Professor McGonagall,_

_There is something wrong. Harry has just – he's in shock, I think. He keeps muttering that he "isn't like him." I don't know what to do._

_Please, you must help him!_

_Petunia_


	2. Apple Tea

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, or any of the affiliated merchandise.

Author's Notes: _Any complaints about things I give warnings for will be ignored! _Be forward that Tom is… a little OOC, in a manner of speaking. I've been watching too much Durarara apparently, and so I keep mixing Tom's personality with Izaya Orihara's. Though, I suppose that isn't too bad since they're both sociopaths and have the same tendencies towards sadism… Anyway, please enjoy!

_Warnings_: slash, potential femslash, chan, mild sadism

**The Astounding Stupidity of Optimism**

**Chapter Two: Apple Tea**

* * *

"Baize!" The elf responded immediately, and popped back into the parlor, wringing her hands anxiously.

"Yes Mistress?"

"Please gather a few Calming Draughts, as well as a Dreamless Sleep potion." The house-elf nodded and quietly popped out of the room, leaving Minerva alone with her thoughts. Although she had extended the offer of aide, she hadn't expected it accepted, let alone called on this quickly. Lily has always spoken of her sister's extravagant pride… What could have caused her to ignore that? Quickly, Minerva dismissed that train of thought. Now was not the time to wonder about such things.

What else would be needed? Healing potions perhaps? If only Petunia had given more information in her letter…

"Baize has what Mistress requested." With more calmness than she really felt, the Witch accepted the thin, wooden box. Another thing to look into, she decided, was getting Harry and his family a small stash of household potions. It would prove to be invaluable, she was sure. "Will Mistress be needing anything else?"

"This will be all for now. I might summon you later while at the Dursleys' residence."

"Of course Mistress." With a swift bow, the elf left to return to her other duties. A final item check later, Minerva followed her lead with a sharp crack.

Privet Drive had not changed must over the years. This, however, was ignored as she swiftly headed down the street towards Number Four. Very few families were home – most having left on holidays several days earlier – the absence of those families robbed the street of any chance it had at seeming homey. The sheer _exactness_ of this place grated heavily on her Witch-ly sensibilities. How could anyone be comfortable here? Regardless, Minerva had come here for a reason, and that reason was more important than her discomfort.

She reached the front door of the Dursley dwelling, but before she could knock, the door was wrenched open. Petunia was ashen, staring at her with a wide, pleading expression, and she wordlessly ushered her into the house. They stood in the entryway as Petunia tried to explain the situation.

"He's in the living room," she said. "He, he's calmed down a bit but…" The housewife clutched her hands together like Minerva had seen church-gores do the few times she had attended Sundays with Severus after Lily and James had died. "He won't respond to anything. I've tried to get him to talk to me, but it's like something is blocking out any sound…"

"Mrs. Dursley, do you know what triggered the…breakdown?" She spoke as gently as she could in an attempt of calming the other woman down.

"No. I, I was…apologizing for how – for how Vernon and I had treated him over the years." Ah, that would be startling enough to cause some distress for her young charge but not enough for this level of shock.

"Where is your husband now?"

"He's with Dudley; they're out golfing for the week. To unwind from the stress of the divorce, he said, and to 'give me time to change my mind'." Here, her face twisted into a dark scowl. Maybe there was some confusion in Minerva's facial features because Petunia went on to explain, "Vernon and I had an argument about Harry around Christmas; he wasn't willing to accept that what we did was wrong. Eventually, things got to the point that our marriage began falling apart."

"I…see." Divorces were very rare in the Wizarding world, simply because most marriages were political contracts between families, and a man's failure to secure the wellbeing of his wife was considered a violation of that contract. This was also the reason that, despite the general animosity between the two, Arthur had never accused Lucius of any sort of domestic violence. It was such an unforgivable thing in Pureblood society to harm family that Minerva was sure that if Tom Riddle had ever had married, even _he_ would not think of crossing that line. "Has, has he…"

She blinked, startled and a little confused, before realization struck her and she responded, "No. For all his flaws, that's one thing he would never do."

Relief flooded her system. Minerva could deal with general disagreements. It was unfortunately common for the parents of Muggle-borns to have conflicting opinions of their child's magic and how it should be handled, often resulting in discord between the two parties. Unlike domestic abuse, it was something she was train in resolving.

"Splitting is for the best, I think. If this continues, it will be easier to take care of Harry if Vernon isn't here to make it worse." Petunia turned away and began heading to a nearby doorway. Inside the room was Harry, lying curled up on the couch just…staring off into space. It was very discontenting. At Hogwarts, he was a lively child, though not quite the level as the Weasley twins – not many where, really. But this…this was unnatural. Briefly she wondered if Harry had had this same feeling of horror when he first saw Ginny down in the Chamber as she did now.

Minerva entered the room leaving the other woman standing in the doorway. Carefully, she stopped next to the couch and kneeled down till she was eye level with Harry. Really, she should have contacted Poppy, or even Severus, but they would eventually tell Dumbledore of the happenings. She couldn't let that happen. No longer would Minerva stand back as one of her lions was herded into trap after death trap.

"Harry," she said softly, "I need you to sit up a bit for me, okay?" While she spoke, she set down the potions box, removed the lid, and pulled out a small vial of Calming Draught. Contrary to what most believed, this draught calmed the mind much more than it did the body, and was often one of the first potions to be given to any sort of trauma patient. It was much easier to heal a relaxed patient after all. "Harry?"

He didn't respond.

Fabric rustled against itself as Petunia settled down next to her. Together, they shifted Harry until he was mostly sitting up, and Minerva uncapped the draught.

"What is that?" asked Petunia.

"A Calming Draught, it will help ease him out of this state."

As carefully as they could manage, they administered the potion. At first there weren't any visible effects, but slowly the tension in his shoulders faded and he yawned. Wrapping himself around one of the throw pillows, Harry slowly fell into a light sleep.

The two women were blissfully unaware of the fourth individual in the room, watching Harry.

* * *

Tom watched with a vague sense of amusement as the Muggle woman scramble around her nephew in a panic. Finally, she settled the boy on the couch and rushed off. It seemed that even during the holidays, he would have some sort of entertainment. What a pleasant surprise!

At first, he been enraged to find himself trapped as Harry Potter's shadow. But over the course of time, he calmed down and realized the potential of the situation. It would be a simple matter to gather information about his enemies like this, since they all trusted little Harry so much. And he had a new toy to play with. This was more interesting than being stuck in a book, and much more fortunate than being destroyed completely. Briefly, he wondered when his bad karma would set in.

Although, it was annoying that Harry couldn't seem to see him at all, though he certainly seemed to know that he was there. Tom had figured that after their shared history, his presence would at least do more than set off Harry's paranoia.

It was a little insulting, really.

With this incident, however, something had changed. Whatever it was that had blocked the reality of his presence from Harry had been destroyed. Giddy sadistic delight bubbled in his stomach as he stared into the boy's eyes with a wide smile. This was going to be so much _fun_.

But first, he wanted to know what had cracked his new toy before he could even play with him.

"Hello again, Harry Potter." The boy jerked at the sound of his voice, and Tom relished the fear flickering in his eyes. "How have you been? Miss me at all?" Harry trembled, staring blankly in shock. Tom sighed dramatically as he draped himself over the younger boy. The Gryffindor, to his delight, looked ready to start crying. "It's rude to ignore someone, you know."

"Leave me alone." The child's whispering voice cracked half way through, and Tom had to push down a genuine smile.

"I can't do that Harry." Behind him, the boy's aunt spoke quietly with another woman with a very familiar voice. So that was what the useless Muggle had run off to do. He smiled and began petting Harry's hair. "Minnie's here to see you it seems." Leaning forward, Tom whispered conspiratorially in his ear, "You'll behave for me, won't you? After all, if you tell we won't be able to have any fun together…"

As the two women entered the room, Tom kissed the hollow just below his ear and then pulled away. His fingers trailed lazily over the other's cheek as he walked behind the sofa, tracing out serpentine lines. Leaning against its back and continuing to trace patterns with his fingernail, he said, "I must say, this childishness is rather disappointing, Harry. Where is that bold personality you had in the Chamber?"

He was obstinately ignored.

It really was very odd, he mused, for Harry to have such a turn around in personality. Perhaps he wore his Gryffindor courage as a mask? That was unlikely. There wasn't any legitimate reason for it. Though, what other explanations could there be? He sighed; it would have to wait until Harry was more willing to answer his questions.

Tom watched in silence as McGonagall fed Harry a potion, then dismissed the two women from his thoughts as they left in the direction of the kitchen. He had much more important things to pay attention to.

"Rest well, Harry. We're going to have a much overdue _chat_ when you wake up." Then he yawned.

Hmm, how odd, he suddenly felt a little sleepy… When _was_ the last time he felt tired, Tom wondered. He'd never had any need for such things in the diary. Yawning, he settled himself against the front of the couch and leaned back. A nap wouldn't do any harm…

* * *

"All that is left to do now is to wait," said McGonagall. Petunia anxiously clasped her hands together and let her gaze flit around the room. Of all the things she had expected when she had decided to improve her relation to Harry, this was not one of them. While she was prepared to deal with Harry's magic, Petunia hadn't given any thought to whether or not she would interact with other Witches and Wizards. What to do…?

Suddenly, she realized that she was ignoring proper etiquette. Regardless of who – or what – her guest was, Petunia refused to be a rude host. She turned swiftly to the older woman, and said, "Would you like some tea, Professor?" Bemused by her sudden change in demeanor, McGonagall nodded slowly and allowed herself to be herded to a small side area.

Petunia stepped into her gleaming kitchen, and began gathering the necessities for high tea. It was comforting to go through the motions of preparing tea. Since the divorce began, Petunia often found herself making a small pot of tea simply to relax, much to the confusion of her lady neighbors. They had been coming over more often lately, to gather gossip under the guise of trying to help her reconcile with Vernon. Perhaps she would let him have the house, then, if only to be rid of those gossipmongers.

Her parents had left her that small home on the other side of London, on the condition that she would never let her husband live under its roof, after all. If the wards could be moved to that residence, the two of them could live there… Maybe her guest would know if they could be?

Tea finished, Petunia returned to the living room. She laid out the dishes, and the two women quietly went through the motions of expected social niceties. They didn't speak, each worried about the sleeping child and slightly uncomfortable in the other's presence.

It was Minerva who broke the silence first.

"What made you decide to change things?" Petunia was startled; that was a rather intimate question, though an understandable one. She had been very cruel to her nephew for a long time.

"I… It was probably an accident, but a week or so before Christmas, Harry's owl showed up with a package," she said, in a soft voice. "There wasn't anything really remarkable about it. He probably doesn't even remember he sent it."

"What was in the package?"

"A thimble." Minerva blinked. A thimble – that was it? Where could Harry have gotten one? Then she remembered. Harry had stayed behind for a few days in November for a little tutoring; one of things he had asked her to go over was transfiguring small metal objects of similar size and shape. She smiled. "I used to sew, you see, when the boys were little, but I stopped after – after an argument with Vernon. The thimble that I used then had been my mother's. I sat down to sew one day and couldn't find it." She paused and smiled sadly. "That was the only time I have ever yelled at Dudley…"

"What was the argument about?"

"Whether it was Harry's fault, or Dudley's. Though really, it couldn't have been Harry since I had taken him to get his glasses that day."

They glanced at the sleeping child, who shifted slightly to clench his fingers around something at the edge of the seat. He smiled and settled deeper into sleep.

* * *

The sun shone brightly in a cloudless sky, its ray dancing off of the surface of the lake. Sweetly scented grass blanketed the nearby knoll, only broken up by a few hedges covered in candy red flowers. Beyond the foreshore of the lake stood an old, Victorian-styled manor enclosed by a foreboding cast-iron fence with a thick forest to its left.

It was so different from Privet Drive that he couldn't help but relax.

Harry was lying on the crest of the knoll watching birds fly across the sky and generally lazing about. Perhaps it was because he was too relaxed to hear his footsteps, or maybe it was because the boy simply _hadn't been there_ before, but when Harry opened his eyes after blinking he was startled to see an almost familiar boy standing over him. The boy was his age, with longish dark hair and strange mahogany eyes narrowed in suspicion.

"Uhh," Harry eloquently greeted, "Hello?"

"Who are you? What are you doing here?"

"I was…" He trailed off, suddenly realizing that he didn't know why he was here. What could he say? Harry didn't want to get in trouble. His uncle had tried his level best to stamp out any imagination he had, and this destroyed Harry's ability to craft the intricate excuses others his age relayed on. So, he went with the truth. "I donno; I went to sleep and when I woke up, I was here."

The boy didn't look convinced, but nodded anyway. "My name's Tom," he said softly, then gave Harry an expectant look.

"Oh! I'm Harry; it's nice to meet you. Do you live here?"

"That's my father's house," he pointed to the manor. Before he could stop himself, Harry asked,

"Is it as creepy inside as it is outside?" He squeaked in surprise and covered his mouth, giving the other boy an apologetic look. Tom just laughed.

"Not really. Come on, I'll show you." His words and tone were friendly but there was a strange gleam in his eyes that made Harry nervous. It would be rude to reject those, and the heat from the sun was becoming uncomfortable, so he let the other boy pull him to his feet. Laughter trailed along with him as they ran along a thin, worn path. "There's werewolves in the forest," Tom whispered darkly as they passed, eyes gleaming and much closer than before. "Be careful okay?" Gasping for breath, they arrived at the gate. When he could breathe normally again, Tom smiled brightly and pushed the gate open. "Welcome to my home."

The house was very decayed, Harry realized with dread. Moss covered most of the lower level's brick, ivy reached up towards the hanging eves, and the hydrangeas lining the walkway towered over them as they passed. A lot of the windows were smashed in, and mold had long since taken hold around them. Glancing behind him, he caught sight of a ruined statue that had once been an angel or cupid. Thin vines of ivy had started to grow over it, pushing their way deeper into the stone until it could no longer take the strain, and simply crumbled to pieces.

He looked away to find Tom smiling at him; Harry couldn't bring himself to smile back.

"Harry…you'll be my friend won't you?"

_There is a rumor in Little Hangleton concerning the vacant manor at the top of the hill._

_Once a prominent family, the Riddles, had lived there but one day, they all died. No one knows how they were killed or who there killer was though a man had been arrested shortly after. The residence of the town only knew that, a few years later, people started to see a small child playing on the grounds. Understandably concerned, they put together a group to search the house for the boy, but they found no signs of life at all in that house. Things went back to normal, and the town soon forgot about the family they had venerated and despised in the same breathe._

_But then, strange things began to happen._


End file.
